


Enemy of My Enemy

by Disaster_Lady



Category: PAYDAY (Video Games)
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Hoxton has an embarrassing middle name, Humor, I really wanted an excuse to have H and H get shitfaced together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 08:19:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6462817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disaster_Lady/pseuds/Disaster_Lady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hoxton and Houston hate each other, but could their mutual dislike of Dallas' old girlfriend and a bottle of Johnnie Walker make them...friends?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enemy of My Enemy

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to post something funny because the next few chapters of Payday: Civil War are going to send you all through the emotional wringer.
> 
> Unlike my other stories, I don't consider this one "canon" with the rest. Certain things may not happen here, because something similar could happen in CW. (Just trying not to spoil my own story...)
> 
> But a special thank you to everyone who has been reading my stuff so far!

Houston hated her since she showed up on his doorstep. At first, his dislike of Angela stemmed from his angry seven year old self being mad that his beloved big brother had a girlfriend, and thus less time for him.

But by the time he was thirteen, Houston possessed a long list of valid reasons to hate Angela. She always treated him like a baby, she got into the stupidest of arguments with Dallas, and was vain and petty.

Funny enough, their mother liked her during the six years she and Dallas were together. And even Houston’s dad, who had long seen his brother as solely his wife’s child, was fond of her in his way.

Houston stole a bottle of wine from his parents when the two finally broke up. His father caught him vomiting into the toilet in the middle of the night, ill from how much he drank. He remembered the fight his father had with his mom, saying that “your son is a bad influence on mine.”

And now here she was. Angela, in the flesh, stood in the Tasteful Club.

“Ryan! It’s so weird to see you as an adult!” she said, her arms outstretched.

She expected Houston to hug her. He would rather kiss Hoxton’s ugly mug than feel her bony arms against him.

“Hi Angela,” Houston said through a grimace.  

He did the polite pat on the back as he hugged. Houston grew to be a head taller than she. The difference didn’t remove the sensation of shrinking back to a child.

Angela aged as well as she could, her blond hair still bright, if overly highlighted.

“You’ll always be that cute little boy to me,” she said, bopping him on the nose.

“Thanks.” _Bitch._

Vlad had taken over running the Tasteful Club since the gang raided it for him. He gave the gathered a private table to relax at. According to Dallas, Angela was there for more than a social call.  The woman was a talented jewel thief, and knew of a diamond collection coming through D.C.

Houston thought her presence was pointless. They all had stolen diamonds before.  But Angela apparently thought it was an opportunity to renew her acquaintance with his brother and apparently, so did he.

Wolf awkwardly danced out in the club, Chains laughed with Wick, and Clover did shots for shots with Bonnie.  Houston swirled the remains of the ginger ale, trying to ignore the story Angela was yammering to his brother.

His attention drifted from Dallas and his old flame to Hoxton. The man was steaming with bottled rage. Houston expected him to shatter the pint glass in his hand from how tightly he was gripping it, his knuckles turning white. His jaw twitched as he scowled. Houston felt sorry for Hoxton. Well, as sorry as he could feel for the twat.

Did Dallas tell Angela that he was no longer single? Or was she ignoring it because Hoxton was a guy?  Houston got up from the table for a refill. It was stupid drama, and for now he was going to avoid it.

 

As Dallas said his goodbyes to Angela on the sidewalk, Houston leaned against the building. Hoxton smoked a cigarette a few feet away.

“I hate her so much,” said Houston. He didn’t mean to say it out loud.

“Me too,” muttered Hoxton.

The two men looked at each other, surprised, then skeptical. Had they actually agreed on something?

Before Houston could speak, Hoxton called him a “wanker” and stormed off.

 

The following night, Houston was sitting alone in his apartment, watching a marathon of people doing stupid stunts for money on TV. Chains went out for the evening, happily prowling the bars for female companionship.

The clock chimed at half past nine. Houston got up from the sofa for a glass of water. Loud banging on the door caused him to nearly drop the glass.

Houston took the gun he taped under the coffee table to be on the safe side. Clover normally warned him before she came over and Chains would never return this early.

He cocked the weapon.

“Hello?”

“Open up wanker, it’s me!”

“Hoxton?” he said, dumbfounded.

“Who else you know with a Yorkshire accent?”

Houston didn’t open the door.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Bonnie decided to be pain in the arse and threw me out of her flat. So I went to the pub, had a few pints. Then I went to the liquor store.”

The sloshing of a bottle was heard through the door. Hoxton came here more than a bit tipsy, his words started to slur together.

Houston hated being a last resort. Deep down, he suspected that he was one when he became “Hoxton.” It was damn unfair, especially from the man himself.

“Can’t you go bother someone else? And before you ask, Chains isn’t here.”

The door thumped.  Hoxton must have thrown himself against the frame.

“I would. I got nowhere else to go! Bonnie don’t wanna deal with me, I don’t fucking know where Clover is, Wolf never told me where his flat is. Can you believe that? He wouldn’t tell me, of all people where it is!”

“I can’t imagine why not.” Houston rolled his eyes.

“Exactly, bloody inconvenient.”

Realization sprouted in Houston’s mind, the one concrete reason why Hoxton would appear drunk on his doorstep.

“Did Dallas kick you out?”

“He did not kick me out,” Hoxton said, offended. “It’s my fucking place too, I pay half the rent. We had a tiff and I left. Serves him right, bloody Angela.” The bottle sloshed again.

The vindictive part of Houston wanted to let Hoxton in and complain about her with him. But the other vindictive part of Houston wanted to let the son of a bitch suffer.

“I am not letting you in,” he said. “So go away.”

“FINE! I’ll just wait here for Chains. _He’ll_ let me in.”

The door thumped again as Hoxton sat down.

Houston groaned. He couldn’t just leave him out there. What if a neighbor saw the strange drunk man sitting outside?

Houston took his gun, all other knives, and pointy objects, locking them in his bedroom, just in case Hoxton tried to pick a fight with him.

He wrenched the door open. Hoxton fell backwards into the apartment, holding up the whisky bottle so it didn’t spill.

“Oi, a little warning next time!”

Houston glared down at him.

“You should be fucking grateful I even let you in!”

“Yeah, yeah whatever.”

Hoxton flopped onto the sofa, putting his feet up on the coffee table. Houston sat at the opposite side, arms folded across his chest.

“What are you drinking?” Houston asked, making conversation.

“This is a very expensive bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label Whisky,” said Hoxton, showing it off like he was Vanna White. “It’s 200 fucking dollars!”

“You know most people go and spend five bucks on ice cream.”

“That’s fucking boring,” Hoxton said before taking a swing.

“Suit yourself.”

“You want some, or you gonna stick with root beer like a pussy?”

How could Hoxton continue to talk to him like that when he let the asshole inside out of the kindness of his heart?  Houston tossed back the last of the water. He didn’t drink alcohol, but it wasn’t that he wouldn’t drink it. He could never understand how experiences were more fun when you were drinking. People should always have their wits about them. But if having a glass of whisky would make Hoxton tolerable for the evening, Houston didn’t see a problem.

“Gimme that fucking thing.” Houston snatched the bottle from Hoxton, pouring a decent amount in the glass.

“You afraid of my germs or somethin’?”

“Oh shut up.”

 

Hoxton leaned over and refilled Houston’s glass. The whisky went down roughly the first few sips, but he started to get used to the sensation.

“Question time,” said Hoxton. “Who’d you rather Dallas be with, me or Angela?”

“You asking who I hate more?”

“That’s the implication.”

Unlike Angela, Hoxton was upfront with his dislike. Angela hid hers behind a fake smile and sugary words. As he got older, Houston could understand why Angela was never fond of him. He too would be annoyed if his S.O’s clingy kid brother wanted to follow them around all the goddamn time.

“Well, you didn’t let me shit my pants in a public place.” Houston regretted saying the words as soon as they were out. He blamed the alcohol.

Hoxton choked on the booze, it dripping down his shirt.

“What the fuck?”

“Not recently, Jesus. I was seven.”

“Oh I wanna hear this,” said Hoxton, eagerly sitting up cross legged.

“No, no, no you’re the fucking guest, you complain first!”

“Fine.” Hoxton took another drink. “She’s just as awful as she was last time.”

“What do you mean, last time?” asked Houston. “You’ve met her before?”

“Unfortunately.”

Why hadn’t Chains or Wolf mentioned this, or more importantly his brother?

“When?”

“Dallas and I were together for like, six months or something. I don’t fucking remember. And Angela shows up cause she’s in town. It’s so bloody obvious she’s trying to shag him. She did all the stupid flirty tricks.  And cause me and Dallas are keeping it to ourselves, he can’t say much more than he’s not interested, but she keeps trying.”

“‘No’ is an unknown word to her,” sighed Houston.

Plenty of her and Dallas’ arguments started with him saying it. Angela’s supposed “charm” worked when trying to get into restricted places, but not here.

Houston splashed a little more in his glass.

“And that bitch’s been ignoring me,” complained Hoxton. “Even though she now knows we’re a couple. Which is funny, cause she liked listening to me before. ”

“I dunno, maybe she didn’t recognize you, cause of the…” Houston gestured to his face.

Eyes narrowing, Hoxton snatched the bottle back.

“Alright wanker, you talk!”

Houston wanted Hoxton to say more. What drove him to come here? Rehashing the past was not enough in his opinion. Dallas must have stuck his foot up his mouth, and for once, Hoxton’s annoyance seemed “reasonable.”

He really didn’t want to tell Hoxton this. It was too embarrassing to even tell Clover.  But since he mentioned the main part of the story, Hoxton would likely bug him until he explained.

“I was seven and she was babysitting me cause Nate had a job interview at the mall.”

“Bloody hell, a job interview?” Hoxton threw his head back laughing.

“And I had to take a piss three times.”

Before going to the mall, Houston chugged an adult sized Gatorade with his lunch. Worse, his dad, not being the world’s greatest chef, made bad tacos.

“She got really tired of waiting for me outside the bathroom.”

“You take too long?” asked Hoxton.

“I didn’t want to drop my toy.”

Small Houston’s constant companion was a stuffed Michelangelo of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. He didn’t trust Angela to look after his friend when he went to the bathroom. It took Houston a while to pee while Michelangelo rested in his other hand.

“Oh of course.”

“My dad used old meat in my lunch. And I really needed to go, again, and Angela wouldn’t let me.”

“And then you shat your pants?”

“Yeah,” said Houston, happy to give the short version.

Angela shouted at him, exasperated when the little boy asked again to go to the bathroom.

_“Jesus Christ! You went five minutes ago!”_

_“But I really really need to go!”_

He got delivered back to his parents sobbing in his soggy pants and clutching the ninja turtle. Even his brother was annoyed at him.

_“Aren’t you a little too old to be doing that in public?”_

Hoxton howled with laughter.  

“I was never that stupid as a kid and did a lot of stupid shit,” he said, wiping a tear away.

Houston needed a little insurance that this story wouldn’t travel around the crew. “And if you tell anyone about this, I’ll send Clover after you.” Having a warrior woman as a girlfriend had its advantages, right?

“Bollocks.” Hoxton drank more. “She’d never fight me.”

“Maybe, but Bonnie would. She loves violence,” Houston said smugly.

The smugness vanished off Hoxton’s face.

“Do you even know what you’re fucking talking about?  I once watched her crush a man to death with her bare hands!” Hoxton said, giving a dramatic reenactment with the bottle.

 

“Is there any food in this bloody place?”

Houston stayed on “his” side of the sofa, slouching deeply as the whisky started to take hold of him. Hoxton, being the dick he was, spread out. One leg hung over the back, the other dangerously close to Houston’s territory.

“I dunno. Chains buys most of the groceries.” His roommate would go out and come back with the strangest assortments from Trader Joe’s.

“He would wouldn’t he! You’d never buy proper food.” Hoxton waved his arms around, near sending the whiskey off the coffee table.

“Will you shut the fuck up if I order a pizza?”

 

Houston burned his fingers piling the cheese back on his slice.

“Chains is definitely a Gryffindor.” he said, agreeing with Hoxton’s assessment.

“We got, Dallas- Slytherin, Wolf and you- Ravenclaw, and me in good ol’ Gryffindor,” listed Hoxton.

“Gryffindor is where they put the dumb people,” said Houston. Although he felt biased, as Luna Lovegood was his favorite character.

“Hermione’s a Gryffindor. She’s the real heroine. Harry’d be fuckin’ dead without her.”

“Serious question,” said Houston. “Is anyone a Hufflepuff?”

Hoxton tore off a chunk of the crust with his teeth. Houston had taken to tossing the bits at him, considering he never ate them himself.

“Ehh, Bonnie? I mean, she didn’t have to find out shit for me in prison. That’s loyalty.  And she’s hard working. When she ain’t drunk that is.”

Houston refilled his glass. Between the two of them, the bottle was half empty.

“What about Clover?”

“She’s a ball-busting queen! Gryffindor for fuckin’ sure!” said Hoxton.

The man sure knew how to insult Houston’s opinion of Clover.

“Gryffindor’s already gotta _queen_ , Ravenclaw all the way!”

“Yehsonofabitch!” Hoxton tried to spring up and grab Houston, but fell off the sofa instead, landing hard with a thump. Houston jumped up to celebrate his victory.

“Gryffindor stupidity strikes again!”

 

Endless infomercials took over the screen. After the third round of watching _Shakeweight_ ads, boredom crept in.

“We should call somebody. Say hello,” suggested Houston.

He and Hoxton both slumped on the sofa, a bruise starting to form on Hoxton’s forehead.

“I got Bonnie’s number. She’d love to hear from us!”

Houston laughed as Hoxton typed it in. He held the phone close between them, putting the device on speaker phone for added effect.

“Oi, what the hell d’you want?” said Bonnie, music played in the background.

“Guess who I’m with? You’d never guess,” Hoxton said cheekily.

Houston started to giggle.

“It’s me!”

Bonnie sighed on the other line.

“What part of ‘I don’t wanna deal with your dramatics tonight’ don’t you understand?”

“You’re a heartless woman!”

“Call me again when you’re sober, Jimmy.”

Houston heard her hang up. How disappointing.

“Why does Bonnie call you ‘Jimmy’? Nobody else does,” he asked.

“Well,” began Hoxton, pointing drunkenly. “She said I weren’t man enough to be called ‘Jim.’ Forgetting that I was nineteen and a previous guest of Her Majesty.”

“Did you have too much acne or somethin’?”

Hoxton slapped him upside the head.

“Shut up.”

“Is there anyone else we can call?”

 

The bottle was close to empty.  

Houston felt overheated. The apartment’s wood floors were cool, the perfect place for him to lie down. He nestled his cheek against the floorboards, trying not to drool.

“It’s your turn to pick, wanker!” demanded Hoxton. He took over the sofa, wrapping himself up in the throw blanket like an inebriated burrito.

He had the best idea for this round.

“Okay then. Clover, Bonnie, and…” His brain struggled to come up with a third. “Sokol.”

“Sokol?” Hoxton leaned off the sofa to hassle him.

“We don’t got anymore GIRLS. And he’s a pretty boy.”

“Oh bugger,” said Hoxton. “That’s true. Okay, marry Clover, fuck Sokol, and kill Bonnie.”

Houston chuckled. “Same. I’ll tell Bonnie you said that.”

“I get to marry your girlfriend.”

 

Houston pulled the blanket away from Hoxton. Why did he have to hog it? The floor got too uncomfortable, and Houston crawled back to the sofa. A much harder thing to do than he thought.

“Gimme the bottle back, yah twat,” said Hoxton. His eyes started to close. Houston too, felt sleepy.

“Sure thing.” He whacked it against Hoxton’s chest, the inch of liquor splashing.

“Maybe it’s the booze talkin’, but you’d look a lot better if you grew out your hair,” said Hoxton.

Houston touched the top of his head self-consciously.

“Hey, Clover loves it. And why should I take fashion advice from a guy with a ponytail?”

“I have wonderful hair.” Hoxton pulled the tie off, tossing his head back. “Oh shit, don’t do that when you’re drunk.” He pinched the bridge of his pointy nose.

“You know what’s really popular right now? Man buns.”

“What buns?”

“It’s like this.”

Houston gathered up Hoxton’s hair, doing his best to create one.

“How does it look?”

A stupid “sprout” stood in the middle of his head. Too short strands hung around his face awkwardly.

“It’s amazing.”

 

“My head is fuckin’ pounding!” yelled Hoxton from his side of the sofa.

“Mine too. Why’d I drink…?” Houston whined. He pulled hard on the blanket, tearing it off of his guest.

Unbeknownst to the two of them, the pounding was from someone banging on the door. The visitor, tired from not getting an answer, opened the door through other means.

Houston, shocked by the sight of his girlfriend suddenly appearing, sat bolt upright.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” said Clover, hands on her hips. “What the fuck are you lads up too?”

The motion caused Houston’s stomach to give a great lurch. He leaned over the arm of the sofa, vomiting.

“Heh, fuckin’ lightweight,” laughed Hoxton.

Clover’s eyes narrowed as they went to the now empty Johnnie Walker bottle.

“James Leslie Hoxworth, you are in so much fucking trouble right now!”

“Oh my god, your middle name’s ‘Leslie’!” said Houston, dribbling puke from his mouth. “No wonder you’re gay.”

“It’s for my Granddad, and he was off fightin’ fuckin’ Nazis while you Yanks did nothing. NOTHING!” Hoxton tried to leap onto the coffee table, while Clover told him to get down.

“Did you two drink this all at once?” she said, picking up the bottle accusingly.

“Yeah,” said Hoxton. “An’don’t blame me. I didn’t pour it down his throat.”

Clover sighed. “I’ll clean this damn mess and I expect to be thanked with copious amounts of alcohol, money, and cunnilingus.”

“Ugh, count me outta the last one,” said Hoxton.

Clover tore out the hair tie on his head.

“Me man bun!” he shouted.

Clover zinged the hair tie at him.

“I _am_ blaming you for this!”

Houston wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

“I’m never fucking drinking again.”

 

Clover sat wedged between them on the sofa, Houston’s embarrassment gone from the floor. Two large glasses of water waited for them to drink on the table, courtesy of Clover.

“Not that weren’t not happy to see you,” said Houston, nuzzling against her shoulder. “But why are you here?”

“Cause I was concerned. After you two called and everything.”

“We called?” Houston had a vague memory of Bonnie telling them off over the phone. It definitely was Bonnie, the two women didn’t sound alike.

Clover frowned. “I come home, go have a nice shower. I check my bloody phone after, and you know what I find?”

“What?” said Houston.

“Sixteen voice mails of you idiots singing the entirety of _Bohemian Rhapsody_.”

“Oh Clover,” said Hoxton, condescendingly. “We didn’t do that.”

“You did, and I saved the best one.”

Clover pressed buttons on her phone. She held it out towards them, and the drunken tones of Houston and Hoxton filled the apartment.

 _“Mamma Mia, Mamma Mia, let me go. Beelzebub has a devil put aside for meeee_!”

The voicemail ended with them falling into giggles as Hoxton tried to hit the high note.

“Ah fuck,” said Hoxton, adjusting his head on Clover’s lap. “We got the lyrics wrong.”

“I think that’s the least of your problems. What if your neighbors heard this?”

Houston scoffed. “They’re a bunch of deaf old ladies.”

“Alright, that answers my first question. Why are you here Hox? You’d never willingly spend time with this one.”

“Hey!” said Houston.

“You know what I mean.”

“He and Dallas had a fight.”

“Why’d he have to let Angela come back? Sure, he’s gotta be fuckin’ nice to her cause she knows his real name, where his mother lives, all that shit the feds would love to hear,” Hoxton drunkenly ranted. “All cause she’s the other most significant relationship he’s ever had in his life. Bloody hell, she could be over there right now, trying to get at him!” Hoxton pulled himself off Clover’s lap, looking mildly deranged.

Clover picked up a glass of water and him with it.  

“You need calm the fuck down.”

“That was bloody cold woman!” said Hoxton, trying to brush the water off.

“Does he normally get this paranoid when drinking?” asked Houston.

“He usually tries to sing _The Greasy Chip Butty Song_ at the top of his lungs.”

The suggestion perked Hoxton back up.

“I can sing it right now if you’d like. YOU-”

Clover clapped her hand over his mouth.

“No.”

***

Trapped on the sofa with the drunks, Clover accepted that she would be babysitting them until Hoxton and Houston sobered up. At long last, the two finally fell asleep.  Houston’s head rested against her shoulder, holding one of her arms like a stuffed animal. Hoxton was still slung across her lap, like she was a pillow.

The feeling in her arm and legs began to disappear. The things she did for these idiots. Well, they were _her_ idiots. Her phone started to vibrate in her pocket.

“Hello,” she said cautiously. Not many people knew this number.

“Is he there with you?”

“Yes, he’s asleep and likely to have a bad hangover tomorrow.”

Dallas sighed deeply on the other line.

“Does he have any idea how worried I’ve been? Nobody had any idea where he ran off to.”

“He ended up with your brother. Must’ve been feeling pretty desperate.”

Clover resisted the impulse to sound harsher. She hated seeing Hoxton upset, and anyone who bothered him had to deal with her. Granted, Clover didn’t know Dallas’ side of the argument, and she knew firsthand what a pain in the arse Hoxton could be when he wanted too.

“From one of the people who knows him best to the other. How badly did I fuck up?” Dallas asked.

“Bad, but not relationship ending,” said Clover. He wants to know he’s appreciated. Not that he’ll fucking admit that. Got his reputation as a dick to maintain.”

Dallas laughed sadly. “If he wakes up, tell him I sent Angela away. I’ll come collect him in the morning.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll watch out for him.”

 

Moments after Clover put her phone away, the apartment door opened. Chains entered, gun cocked. _I guess I forgot to lock the door behind me._

“Oh shit, it’s you,” he said relieved.

“Sorry about that. I’ve been a little fucking distracted.” She prodded Houston with her free hand.

“Uh, what the fuck happened?”

***

“Rise and shine motherfuckers!”

Chains banged on the pan over the sofa.

The sound painfully woke Houston, his head spinning painfully.

“Bloody hell, would you stop that!” demanded Hoxton.

“Jesus Christ, what time is it?” Houston’s face felt puffy as if someone had hit it repeatedly.

“Noon,” said Chains. “Get the fuck off my sofa.”

“Hey, I live here too,” he said.

So Hoxton really did come here, and drinking a lot, no, drinking period with him was not a bizarre dream of his.  

“Here,” said Chains. “I bet you want this.”

Chains threw a bag of frozen peas at Hoxton, smacking him with it.

Hoxton swore under his breath and held the bag to his head.

“I’m never drinking with you again,” said Houston. He pulled the blanket over his head as if he could hide from his hangover. All he wanted to do was go back to sleep.

“You don’t have to fucking ask me that! You drank almost as much as I did! That whisky was fucking expensive!”

“Says the man who wanted me to drink it.”

“Keep it down over there! Or Chains and I won’t give you breakfast,” said Clover.

Houston could smell bacon cooking. It was almost too nice of a gesture for a hangover morning, considering she had to clean up after him.

“Why are you still here,” asked Hoxton.

“Cause you’re both idiots. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to Chains to make him the babysitter.”

“It was annoying enough to arraign you two on the sofa.”

Houston sighed. He drank enough last night to impress Bonnie, unfortunately. He would begrudgingly admit (never aloud) that spending the night with Hoxton had been...fun in a sort of fucked up way.

“A truly horrible thing.” Hoxton covered his eyes with the bag.

Chains went on his way to the door.

“What would be Dallas.”

Hoxton sighed and pressed the bag harder on his face, avoiding the inevitable confrontation. 

Dallas stood over him. “Hey Jim, let’s talk.”

Hoxton grumbled his ascent, yanking the blanket off Houston as he got up.

“Twat!” he said, feeling a chill.

There wasn’t much place for privacy in the flat. Dallas, apparently not wanting to be a worse guest, walked into Houston’s bedroom. Hopefully neither of them would notice the stockpile of weapons sitting on his dresser.

“Eh, they’ll figure it out,” said Chains dismissively. “Want a cup of coffee?”

“Ugh, please.”

Clover leaped over the sofa, curling up next to Houston.

“So what have we learned?” she asked in a teasing voice.

“Never drink with Hoxton.”

“And never leave me weird voicemails.”

“At least now I know why he kept trying to set me up with Angela the last time,” said Chains, coffee in hand.

Houston cringed at the idea. “That’s a little too weird for me.”

Hoxton and Dallas stepped back out, seeming to be at the end of their argument. His brother was less stiff than he was when he got to the apartment, and Hoxton not as desperate looking as the night before.

“We’re going out for breakfast,” said Dallas.

“Have fun.” Houston gave them a wave with the blanket.

“See you around wanker,” grinned Hoxton.

“Next time buy ice cream and watch sad animal movies,” said Houston.

“That wouldn’t be very entertaining now, would it?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of characters throw up in my fics I've realized. It was certainly not intentional. 
> 
> I like the idea of Wolf having a secret hidy-hole. Sounds like a future fic idea.
> 
> Johnnie Walker Blue Label Whisky is really good stuff. My friends bought it as a graduation gift. It is just as expensive as Hoxton says it is.
> 
> Special Shout-out to Lucas for creating/inspiring the head canon that Houston likes TMNT. 
> 
> I'm really surprised no one else has posted about possible house placements for the gang. I will admit that I am a Ravenclaw. So far I've got, Slytherin-Dallas, Dragan; Gryffindor- Chains, Hoxton; Hufflepuff-Bonnie, Ravenclaw- Wolf, Sokol, Houston.
> 
> But I can't pick between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw for Clover (and John Wick), and the case can be made for Hufflepuff!Wolf. Please debate in the comments ;)
> 
> *Prayer circle for Sydney the Heister to come out soon*
> 
> Bohemian Rhapsody is so iconic, both Hoxton and Houston would have to know how to sing it.
> 
> I once splashed my friend with a glass of water at a bar cause she was drunk and freaking out. Then again, I too was drunk at the time.
> 
> The Greasy Chip Butty Song is an anthem for the Sheffield United F.C. Hoxton definitely has to be a fan.


End file.
